


The Yellow Scarf

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Clueless Jack, Fashionable Rhys, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Rhys as Jack's PA, but there is certainly smooching, kind of? It's ambiguous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 08:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14016708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: Rhys wears a scarf to work, leaving Jack to contemplate its existence.Though maybe "obsess" is the better word.





	The Yellow Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> Just something small and fluffy! As usual haha. 
> 
> Jack doesn't understand fashion much...

Rhys is wearing a scarf, and it makes Jack—who has through constant exposure come to memorize the two or three outfits he cycles through—pause in the middle of his usual grunted greeting to the PA as Rhys enters the office.

He puzzles over its existence as Rhys settles himself at the slightly smaller desk to Jack’s right and begins to take his personal affects out of his satchel. It was dusty yellow and faded darker at the delicately frayed tips, Fuzzy spots dot the fabric, probably some kind of pattern that Jack can’t make out at this distance.

He finally gets a good look at it when Rhys finishes unpacking his bag and goes to make Jack coffee. Up until a couple weeks back he’d had Rhys fetch coffee on the way to work from one of the Hub’s cafes, but thanks to bottleneck in the elevators it’d arrived cold more times than Jack was happy with. So he’d had the little machine, complete with sugar and cream thanks to Rhys’ bitching, installed in a spare nook of space to ensure it’d come piping hot and in constant supply.

Jack hated cold coffee almost as much as he hated sweet coffee. Whenever Rhys had gotten tied up and it’d gone cold and sour he’d refused to drink it and then ended up irritable and unproductive when he had to throw it away. Sometimes he’d sent it flying out the airlock in an attempt to cheer himself up. But the coffee machine was a much better solution and made him infinitely happier than watching globs of brown liquid float out into space like beads of oil in water.

Rhys places Jack’s mug on his desk, but even the distracting aroma of fresh brew can’t tempt Jack away from stopping Rhys’ with a sharp point to the neck.

“What’s with this frilly lil number, kiddo?”

Rhys’ eyebrow raises as he fingers the scarf at his neck, tucking his chin to look down. From this close Jack can see the pattern—stylized bees crawling over broken pieces of honeycomb, arranged diagonally from one another.

“This? I was just doing a little bit of shopping. Sometimes I like to treat myself a little bit on payday.”

“You know, Helios is kept at a constant 23 degrees, right? You don’t have to bundle up.”

Rhys smirks.

“ _Obviously_  this is for fashion’s sake. See? It matches my outfit.”

The outfit in question is one of the ones Jack has otherwise memorized. He’s never said it outright, but he far prefers this one to the blue and red one he wears a lot more often. The vest has been switched out for a suit jacket with gold trim defining the lapels, which matches the silky yellow shirt Rhys keeps tucked into a pair of fitted black pants. Agolden clipengraved in Hyperion’s name usually holds a black tie flat against his chest, but that’s been left home in favor of the scarf, apparently.

The whole ensemble feels a lot more coherent than the other outfit, and matches better with the bright chrome yellow of his cybernetic. Even with the latest addition, that Jack’s still busy trying to make up his mind about.

“You know you’re gonna end up starting a trend, pumpkin. What am I gonna do if next week everyone on the damn space station is wearing those frilly things?”

“It’s  _not_  frilly, actually, its  _very_  masculine, and secondly do you really think me wearing it is gonna convince all of Helios it’s the next new trend?”

Jack rests his chin in his hand, leaning forward on the desk.

“I dunno, I mean you’re basically second banana around here, maybe people are gonna see it as a chance to ape you and try to curry my favor.”

“See, though, that’s why you picked me for my brains and not my looks, right?”

“ _Hm_ , little of column A, little of column B, I think.”

“You know no one else on Helios can claim to have the whole package the way I can.” Rhys smirks, before turning Jack’s holographic screen around and tapping out a couple of things. The CEO hisses a little in protest but Rhys ignores him as he pulls open Jack’s e-mail.

“I sent you the applications for the temp secretary by the way. I’m just going to open them up for you  _now_  so you don’t forget.”

Jack continues grumbling, but lets Rhys finish, in the meantime taking a closer look at the scarf. He’d tied it kind of like an ascot about his neck, though the knot is fancier, almost braided. Jack wonders how many times Rhys had tied and untied it, practicing, wanting to get that perfect look. Sometimes he envisions what his PA did at home for his daily routines, meticulously combing over his look until it’s perfect enough to show off for the rest of the day. He likes to think of them in contrast because really, Rhys is basically himself but with more to prove. Jack speaks his confidence through bravado and violence, whereas Rhys communicates it with more subtlety, in his wardrobe and hair and the way he addresses Jack, acquiescent yet often bold enough to be casual. 

Jack sniffs as Rhys turnes the screen back towards him. “Is that a new cologne?”

Rhys looks down at himself.

“Yeah. Vanilla and teakwood. Imported from Calliope. Do you like it?”

Jack snorts. “Does it matter if I like it?”

“Guess not.” Rhys shrugs, placing his hands on his hips. “Can I get back to work now?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack waves him off. “Get outta my face.”

It wasn’t unusual for them to spend the majority of the early morning in silence, each invested in their specific workload. After lunch they typically got a little more talkative, with the bulk of the day’s business done and lunch in their stomachs. Jack had sunk a pretty penny into HR’sbudget in order to up productivity after 1pm, but it didn’t really apply much when you were at the top of the food chain. No one was going to get on Jack for lazing off in the latter part of the day. With the exception of Rhys, and he only got away with it because he was cute arm candy and Jack didn’t want to go through with the trouble of training a new PA.

So yeah, the quiet that falls after Rhys returns to his desk is normal. But as Jack continues sitting, not talking, he finds his brain drifting from the temp applications on his monitor and back towards Rhys’ new accessory.

Seriously, where had that come from? Despite what he said earlier, Rhys is more a follower than a trendsetter, always dressing in line with the latest style and fashion popular on Helios first before he made any personal adjustments, and yet Jack hasn’t seen a thing about scarves in the latest issue of the Hyperion catalogue he’d flipped through one bored night. Had he picked it up from some other company or some foreign culture on a distant planet? He’d seen some bandits with scarves around their necks but they were dirty, raggedy things with neither the finery nor style of Rhys’, knotted about their throats as if flimsy fabric could protect against a well-aimed Hyperion pistol or a camp-wide firebombing.

Jack looks at Rhys’ from the corner of his eyes, moving his fingers about the screen and absently tapping about so his PA won’t suspect he’s staring.

His periphery affords little more than blotches of color, but the bright yellow of the scarf is easy to pick out among the charcoal and minute gold of Rhys’ outfit. Jack keeps seeing the design to the accessory, imprinted in his eyes like he’d looked at the sun for too long. It dogs him like he’s some house-wife locked up and driven crazy by the intricacies of her kitchen wallpaper. The pattern of bees buzzes around his head, stinging him with questions.

On top of it all, the little whiff of cologne lingers around his sinuses like a building headache. Distracting him even more.

_Thanks Rhys._

Jack sips half of his coffee and tries to focus on work, on the names and training and job experience of the applications swimming in blue on his monitor, but he can’t stop thinking and feeling and seeing and  _smelling_.

So he kicks away from his desk, chair squeaking as it wheels out and back. Rhys doesn’t look up until Jack has already stomped around besides his desk, and doesn’t say anything until Jack puts both hands on his shoulders and makes Rhys stand up and face him.

“What? Do you need another cup of coffee? You can just ask me, you know, you don’t have to come over and haul me up like this.” Rhys places his hands gingerly on Jack’s wrists, voice cool as the slight surprise starts to fade from his expression. He raisea his eyebrow when Jack doesn’t answer right away, and looks down when he sees the CEO’s eyes are fixed on his scarf.

“Are you really…? Okay, I mean, if it bothers you that much I can take it off but really Jack, there’s nothing effeminate or lame about wearing a  _scarf—“_

_“_ No,” Jack murmurs, one hand sliding from Rhys’ shoulder to trail along the main knot of the scarf. He inhales deeply. The smell of the cologne is even stronger here, around Rhys’ neck, drawing him even closer.  

Rhys’ throat bobs as Jack toys with the scarf, but he’s not afraid. Jack has seen Rhys afraid, he gets all bone-white in the face and his lips draw tight over his teeth in an effort not to scream, but no, right now Rhys’ cheeks are all pink and his eyes are slightly scrunched and his teeth peek slightly over his lower lip as he nibbles it.

Jack’s fingers curl into the scarf, between the scented fabric and warm skin. He isn’t known for restraint, and Rhys should know this.

And yet he still gasps when Jack leans in and presses their lips together.

Jack might’ve kissed Rhys once before, if he could trust his memory from the night of the last quarterly gala. Rhys insisted he did and Jack had denied it vehemently so his PA wouldn’t have fuel to tease him. But the touch of Rhys’ soft lips against his own is definitely igniting some old feelings.

They breath softly when they finally part. Rhys’ hands have fallen from Jack’s wrist to his chest, fingers kneading Jack’s sweater like he’s deciding between pushing Jack away or yanking him forward for another kiss. His eyes look a little dazed, a far cry from the sharp over focus he usually gets at work. Jack rubs his shoulder, keeping him close.

“I like it, by the way.”

“Hm?” Rhys replies absently. Jack leans in and rests their foreheads together.

“The cologne. I like it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Jack strokes the scarf as Rhys slides his arms around his shoulders, hugging him loose about the neck.

“I like this too.” He flicks the wispy end of the garment. “You should wear this more often.”

Rhys’ lips curl up in a gentle smile.

“If it gets you to kiss me, then I might have to.”


End file.
